A Lesson
by CaughtInTheStorm
Summary: When the genuis, Evera Wall, meets the infamous Sherlock Holmes, will the spark between them flare and grow into something more? Or will it be smothered by their pride? Rated T for caution. Credit to LiveLifeLove22
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Lots of credit to LiveLifeLove22! Thank you so much!**

* * *

I hoist the heavy bag over my shoulder and walk through through the weighty door, the cold air rushing through my clothes and into my skin. But I was used to it. For 12 months of the year, this is my home. The comforting ice rink. Right now, it's 5:30 in the morning on a brisk London fall day. Most average 20 year olds would be sleeping or maybe going to a collage class. But not me. I've already been through collage. I have my Masters in Physics, but I didn't want a PhD because I don't really need it. Not to brag or anything, but I am a genius. I have an IQ of 210 and I can solve any problem I face with simple powers of deductions. But right now the only problem I need to solve is the problem with my triple lutz. I slip the key I used to get into the rink back into my bag. I helped the owner get out off of a shoplifting charge, so naturally the only payment I asked for was ice time. He gave me a key and said I could come whenever I wanted. So I do. I'm usually here before anyone else is. The music blares through my mind, clearing all thoughts and I slip a bud out so I can think well and I stop in my tracks. The marks on the door, the prints on the ground. There was no public skate yesterday and those prints are fresh. Someone broke in, and then locked it.

_Size 8 shoes. Man, obviously. Why did they leave? When they came in, they were dragging something heavy. It was dragging across the floor. A body. A man's, about 6'1", 178 pounds. Why did they come here? Why here? Blood stains, closer to the ice. A man on the ice, about 30 years. Worked in a factory. Due to the outfit and callouses on hands and feet. Veins in the legs show that he was mostly on his feet. Doesn't do any sports or anything of that sort. Now where did he work? Well, his uniform is slightly heavy duty. No, not a factory. Look at the way the uniform is styled. Chef. Head chef? No, sous chef. And not a very good one at that due to the smudges of food across his midriff. Probably from sautéing wrong. Okay, so why was he killed. Wedding ring. Regularly removed. He is a chef, so he must not want to get it dirty. Okay, wife. 2 kids. Probably wanted a promotion, to get more money for his kids. Is that why he was killed? No, because the head chef didn't feel threated, due to his lack of skills. So random, but why was he "dumped" here? Ahh, it's closed on Sundays, so nobody would have come. Well, except me._

I whip out my mobile and call Scotland Yard.

"Hello," I say clear.

"Hello," the woman on the other end drawls.

"There has been a murder at the Lee Valley Ice Centre. A man, about age 30, death by gunshot to the head."

"Okay, well, don't panic."

"Do I sound panicked?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Um, no you don't, but just in case." She says and I roll my eyes.

"I was just letting you know, so you can come pick up the body. I'll see someone in about 30 minutes."

"Um, yes." I hear her take the phone away from her mouth and yell, "Lestrade!" Probably the main guy. I stretch my hamstrings out after putting down on the bench that I scratched my name into when I was 4 and I started skating here. I stretch very vigorously, as I don't want to reinjure anything. I broke my ankle at 15 and was out for the whole season. It was horrible. I had to do physical therapy as well, and I learned how to protect myself from injuries. By the time, I'm done stretching I hear banging on the door. I get up to let in the police, but they break down the door before I can get there. So much for patience. A bunch of men walk into the building holding guns. They walk towards the ice, guns pointed all around. They see me over on the opposite side of the rink, staring at them with humor in my eyes. They rush over to me, guns still pointed, this time at me. I smirk, as I take out one of my once pearly white skates.

"Going to arrest me, Lestrade?" I recognize him, with his posture and receding hairline.

_Middle aged man. Recently went through a break up with his wife. Works as a Detective Inspector but asks someone for help quite often. Probably would trust that person with his life. Doesn't have much money. This is his whole life and he likes that, but his wife didn't. Which is why she was cheating on him. _

He doesn't seem stunned by the fact that we've never met; yet I know him.

"Well, I should considering you seem to be the main suspect." He drawls.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, clearly this man was murdered by a gun shot and I obviously don't have a gun. The only weapons I have are these things." I gesture with the skate. "And plus, why would I murder him?"

"I don't know, but you could have gotten rid of the gun before we came."

"Yes, I suppose that is realistic, but where would I have put it? And that bullet wasn't even made by a handgun, but a rifle. A hunting rifle to be exact." I pause, thinking.

"But why would someone have a hunting rifle in London?" I continue. "So they weren't from London. So it was deliberate."

"What was?" A dark lady asks.

"The murder," I say with a raise of my eyebrow.

"Someone call the great Sherlock Holmes." The lady says her voice dripping with sarcasm. Lestrade takes out his phone, but only sends a text.

"He'll be here in 30 minutes."

"Great," the lady says, "Freak's coming." She adds into her intercom.

"Okay, so have you been out on the ice yet?" Lestrade turns back to me.

"No, I don't even have my skates on."

"Okay, so would you mind taking a look at the body?" I look at him in surprise. He just found a young woman on a crime scene and he is asking her to look at the body?

"Sure, but I want to put on my skates first."

"Okay." Lestrade walks away, shouting for Anderson.

I lace my skates up in one minute, flat. I open one of the doors to the ice and step on. And I'm home. Even with a dead body on the ice. I do a few laps around the ice, stretching out my sore muscles. I stop next to the dead body, spraying a bit of ice on him. I stare at the man's face.

_Definitely a hunter's rifle. Pretty heavy for a chef. From Cambridge, judging by the cold of his fingers. Was a very happy man, smiled a lot. I wonder when they are going to get this body off the ice._

Lestrade stumbles over to me, in his sneakers. I snicker.

"So what have you go for me?" He skids to a stop.

"Well, he's a sous chef with a wife and 2 kids from Cambridge, but worked here in London. He was a good chef, but not great. He wanted a promotion, and that made the head chef feel threatened, but he didn't kill the man. His name is James Stanson, according to his name tag."

"Very well." He says, and then mutters, "Wow, we've got a female Sherlock."

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I ask and he blushes.

"Um, nothing." He says. And I open my mouth, but the doors bang open. A tall handsome man walks in. And my eyes are drawn to him.

_Trench coat and scarf, tries to protect himself. Also makes him look taller. And more attractive, as he clearly his with those high cheekbones and his lean frame. Why would he be at a crime scene? Obviously not part of Scotland Yard, but works for himself. Holds himself very lofty. Doesn't eat very much and doesn't eat for long periods of time. Doesn't either. Probably had ADD and maybe something else. This is clearly Sherlock Holmes. So, Lestrade clearly needs him, but that woman calls him a freak. Is she jealous? Of his intelligence? Yes. And he's here so he's a detective, but doesn't work for the police so private detective, but being of that intelligence, he wouldn't call himself that. He would call himself something with a much better ring to it, so consulting detective. _

Next walks in a short blond man, behind Sherlock.

_Army doctor. Was stationed in Afghanistan. Works with Sherlock, probably because no one else will. Pities him. Has strong morals. Very kind and loving, but is single probably Sherlock hates all his girlfriends._

I watch them from my place on the ice. I feel his eyes on me and can tell he's deducing me. Ooh, an attractive man in a trench coat that can deduce. I walk over to them and say, "So, what have you got?"

"Um, excuse me?" The short man says.

"I'm sorry I was talking to your," I raise an eyebrow and look over at Sherlock. "Friend."

"Sorry?" Sherlock says.

"Your deductions. I was wondering what you had got about me." He raises and eyebrow and I smile. I love catching people off guard.

"Well, I know that you are a figure skater."

"Obvious." I smirk.

"Yeah, Sherlock, even I got that one." His friend says.

"Oh sorry I never caught your name," I say to the blond.

"John Watson." He says and we shake hands.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Watson." He looks at me with surprise, and then shakes his head.

"So, Mr. Holmes, what have you got for me."

"Well, you're a figure skater and a good one at that. You own this rink with money you got from your dead parents. Why else would you be here at 6:30 in the morning? I know that you are majorly intelligent and you have mastered the science of deduction."

"I expected more from you, Mr. Holmes. With that massive intelligence of yours." I raise my eyebrow, challenging.

"Well, don't believe everything you read. Assuming that you did read this somewhere." He turns to walk away.

"I didn't." He stops.

"What did you say?" I lean towards him.

"I didn't." The corners of my mouth twitch.

"Um, who are you?" John pipes in.

"Evera Wall."

"Well, Ms. Wall," He continues.

"Yes, I know. The body." I cut in. "It's ruining my ice." Sherlock lifts an eyebrow, but walks towards the ice, his posture impeccable.

* * *

**A/N: Please review! I would really like to hear what you have to say! Thanks! **

**CaughtInTheStorm**


	2. Chapter 2

As Mr. Holmes approaches the ice, with John right behind him, he pulls of his leather gloves and pulls on plastic ones. He places one black shoe on the slippery ice and almost falls. I hold back a laugh as I brush past him and place one skinny blade on the ice and skate over to where Anderson is standing on the ice.

"Hi, you must be Anderson." I say, shaking his hand.

"And you must be heaven sent." He remarks, looking at my thick chestnut hair, with streaks of light brown.

"And you must be kidding," I mutter, my big brown/green eyes narrowing. I place my hands on my petite waist and glare at him.

"So," he says. "After we finish up here." But I cut him of with a shake of my head.

"No."

"Bu-but, you haven't even heard what I was going to say." He stammers.

"No, but I've heard enough." I skate away, making a quick loop around the body then skating off to one edge of the ice. I do some quick crossovers and throw my body into a death drop. As I spin, I can see Anderson's jaw hanging open. I push forward onto my right blade and bend by chest back into a layback spin. I grab my free leg and pull in up next to my ear. I pull it up with my other hand and stare at it, my chest leaning far back, as I spin round and round. I let my leg down and push out of the spin. I skate back to the man on the cold ice.

"Well that felt good." I say to no one in particular. Sherlock and John slide over to the body and Sherlock drops to his knees and circles the body as I watch him with interest.

"That was absolutely amazing." John says to me.

"Well, thank you, Dr. Watson. That means a lot from you." I say, meeting his gaze.

"No offence, but you don't even know me." He says.

"Yes, I do." I turn my gaze back to the body. He raises an eyebrow meaning he knows exactly what I'm talking about. As we stare at the lifeless man below us, I realize something.

"I have no use in being here."

"No," Sherlock says, "You don't."

"Well, I didn't ask for your input," I reply skating away. This whole morning was just a bust. I was planning on perfect my triple lutz, but instead I had to help solve a murder. All laced up and nowhere to go. I untie them in a flash and wipe off the blade with a thick cloth. I put my shredded soakers on them and grab them, making my way to the door. Lestrade stops me.

"Hey! Where are you going?" he asks.

"Home." I reply.

"No! You can't leave, we need your help in solving this case!"

"You have Sherlock." I say.

"Yes, but you know all about this rink!"

"Yes, but Sherlock knows everything about everything and he has no desire to work with me."

"Of course he doesn't. Can I go talk to him? See if he'll work with you?" Lestrade pleads.

"Go ahead, but he won't budge," I mutter. Lestrade walks away and I slide my phone out of my back pocket and check my messages. 3 from an unknown number and 1 from Lauren Smith. I click that one open: Hey, Evera! Just wanted to see if you're still in London and if you wanted to go out for coffee sometime! I delete it immediately. She was a "friend" from high school, but she was an idiot, so I never really hung out with her. Why she would be texting me is really a mystery, well not really. Basically she is just desperate. Wants to complain to someone. And I don't even open the ones from the unknown number. I've had too many of those. And most of them did not end well. Lestrade strides back over to me. I raise my eyebrows.

"Well, you were right."

"Of course I was. Well, it was my pleasure meeting you." I turn to leave.

"Not so fast. John made Sherlock stay."

"Well, that's pretty curious."

"Isn't it?" Lestrade states.

"I don't even want to be here. But, for you, the man that I just met this morning, of course I will."

"Thank you." I slid back out onto the ice and drop on one knee next to Sherlock, who looks over in shock.

"Yes?" I question.

"Just shocked that you're still here."

"Why? Because the only reason I haven't left yet was due to Dr. Watson, a man I just met and Detective Lestrade, a man I met this morning?"

"Precisely. And you don't seem like the type of person that would trust people that quickly."

"On the contrary, I trust the right people." He looks up and his blue green eyes lock with mine.

"Because you've made that mistake before." He says, his eyes leaving mine and returning to the body.

"Maybe my previous judgment was a bit harsh." I state.

"Maybe it was." Sherlock feels the inside of the man's coat.

"So," Dr. Watson awkwardly says.

"Yes, Dr. Watson. Anything on your mind?" I peer up at him, my eyes searching his face.

"Um," He clenches and unclenches his hands. "Not really, I was just wondering when Sherlock and I would be done here."

"Well, having know Mr. Holmes here for all this time, I believe you will be leaving when the murder is solved." I stand. "But, don't worry about your date, because Mr. Holmes here has just solved it." John's eyes jump from me to him, as Sherlock gets up, coat swishing and exits the ice. I quickly follow and John rolls his eyes and joins us. Sherlock walks over to Lestrade, pulling off his plastic gloves.

"It was his wife's cousin. From America. He was jealous of him, always was. So he brought his rifle over and shot him." Sherlock rambles.

"Good, what else?" I ask.

"Wait, you already know?" Lestrade questions.

"Of course. But I'm waiting for him." Sherlock looks at me with a weird look in his eye, but turns to Lestrade.

"The cousin was pretty stupid, but street smart. He brought the rifle over undetected as part of the US hunting team that was coming over for a local competition. He disposed of the gun over here and quickly flew back to America. This also is not our problem, but actually the United State police problem, I would send them a report." My eyebrow flicks up and I grin.

"Well, now that we are done here, with Mr. Holmes' beautiful case solving." I nod my head towards him. "I'll be off." I slip my phone number into Sherlock's pocket and walk out of the building into the gleaming sunlight. I don't go far before someone is yelling my name and running towards me. I don't know whom I expect, but I see John.

"Dr. Watson, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was just wondering if we could have your phone number incase anything comes up." He says, rushed.

"Well, that won't be a problem."

John looks at me with confusion.

"You already have it. Good day." And I stride off, turning my back on a very confused Watson.

I whistle, the vibrations burning my lips and slide into the cab and mutter, "42 Eade Road."

The cab speeds away into the misty road. By the time we arrive back at my flat, the sun is over my head. I make myself some tea and flick on the telly. I am flipping through channels when my phone buzzes.

Can you come to our flat? Sherlock has some questions for you.

-JW

So, John is texting me about his flat mate? Well, this I can't miss.

What's the address?

-EW

I waltz to my bedroom and strip out of my skating clothes and slip into dark jeans and a plum coloured blouse. My phone vibrates with the answer just as I grab my black pea coat and walk out. I hail a cab and shout, "221B Baker Street!"

* * *

**A/N: Criticism please! I would really love to know what you think, and what I can make better! Thanks so much!**


End file.
